immaculate dream made breath and skin
by Malapropian
Summary: This is so far from normal or healthy, but Stiles didn't choose necromancy on a lark. And he didn't fall for Deathless Peter Hale without knowing the best and the worst of him. They're both using each other. They both understand the call of the void. They're both half in love with death. They're both terrifyingly obsessed with each other—for good or ill. (for WIP Amnesty)


I started writing this a while back. Way before I posted the first chapter of my other necromancy fic. I love necromancy and death and this fic, but... I really don't know if I'll ever write the rest. I've got a few bits that aren't included here because I think the last scene can stand alone (mostly), and I might return to this AU one day.

Context: Stiles was a tiny, baby necromancer who met Deathless Peter Hale. The ghost of a necromancer who'd escaped death so many times that no one expected him to die. Not _permanently_. At magic school, Stiles and Peter develop a close relationship full of grossness and ghostly voyeurism. This scene takes place right after Peter manipulates Stiles into a ritual that will bring him back to full life with a fresh body that looks just like his old self (and after the 'we should fuck because you have a real body' sex).

Title from "Come Undone" by Duran Duran. 

* * *

Behind the bed curtains where so many of their meetings have taken place, Stiles finally breaks the quiet intimacy of their reunion by asking the question that's been on his mind for years. "Would you have wanted me even if I wasn't a necromancer of your lineage? I wouldn't have been very useful to you if I wasn't."

Peter frowns at Stiles from his position as a pillow, "Does it really matter? We're together now. We're _happy._ You've just had the best sex of your life. Why ruin it by thinking about what ifs?"

"Maybe I want to know that you love me?"

"Love?" he scoffs. "Don't be absurd."

"I want to know, Peter. I have the right! You didn't even tell me your resurrection plan. Maybe you'll get tired of fucking me and find a new underage boy—or girl—to fuck." Stiles' lips tremble before he presses them together so tightly that they turn pale. "It wouldn't be the first time, now would it?"

Peter sneers. "You're seriously asking me this? Then you'd best listen well because I'm not saying it again, you little bitch. You're perfect for me. You know you're not the first necromancer I've met. Not even the first from my line. I was fascinated from the moment I heard about the child who could see all of us. Who wanted to meet us. I won't insult you and claim those weren't factors, but I wanted you more than any other living soul I'd met. So I won you over. I lied and cheated and seduced. All so I could own you. Of course I didn't tell you my intentions, but we're bonded now, sweetheart. Blood and bones and soul—we belong together. In death or hate, there's no escaping me." Peter clutches at him possessively, as though he thinks that Stiles is about to storm out.

Instead of struggling free from his grasp, Stiles stares at Peter with the eyes he earned by bringing a ghost back to true life. He knows they're unsettling, yet Peter meets his gaze boldly, like a challenge, like he wants nothing more than to devour him whole. Peter's cock is hard between Stiles' spread thighs. They're both reacting as though Stiles' new ability to turn his eyes into the vast emptiness of Between is erotic instead of disturbing.

This is so far from normal or healthy, but Stiles didn't choose necromancy on a lark. And he didn't fall for Deathless Peter Hale without knowing the best and the worst of him. They're both using each other. They both understand the call of the void. They're both half in love with death. They're both terrifyingly obsessed with each other—for good or ill.

And that is their shared truth. The thing that Peter refused to admit in all the years they've known each other. He's tried so hard to avoid it, never satisfying Stiles' curiosity. Until now. Just this once, he's shared it in unvarnished words, all for Stiles' peace of mind. They'll never be untangled, not even if they try. Though an unknowing participant, Stiles is the vessel that carried Peter's soul back from the abyss. It's Stiles' magic that shaped Peter's new body to house the spark of life stolen away from Death's domain. In a strange way, they're part of each other's conceptions. One day they may grow to despise each other, but there will never be apathy between them. That knowledge is heady, thrilling. It's everything Stiles could want from a love confession.

"Damn right we belong together." Stiles clenches his fist in Peter's hair. Peter follows Stiles' hand when he tugs, bending his head back until the tendons in his throat strain against the angle. They're both motionless, each reluctant to misstep when they know how quickly their passion can turn to violence. Pleased with Peter's tacit surrender, Stiles leans forward to lay a chaste kiss on his mouth. He opens his mouth, flicking his tongue against Peter's closed lips until he parts them, allowing Stiles to slip inside. He moans when Peter's tongue slides against his. Everything about Peter is soft, hot. He's newly born and made by Stiles. For Stiles. It's intoxicating, holding so much power over another person; perhaps this is Peter's gift and apology to him.

Stiles only breaks away when they're biting more than kissing. He licks fresh blood from his teeth and murmurs, "I brought you back to life. I own you, too. Blood, bones, and soul. You're mine, Peter, and I'll put you back in your grave if you ever try to leave."

This time, when he kisses Peter it tastes like Between. It's perfect. 

* * *

You can tell me you'd like to see more, but it might not happen. I'd like to write the beginning of this one day, so we'll see. It is a mystery! (Seriously, it won't be any time soon.)

Thanks to Taylor and Canni and Laura and Bones for looking at this and telling me that it made sense without the rest of the story.


End file.
